When the Sky Is Falling

 

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When we are at home in our souls our actions flow freely with great power to change situations for the greatest good.

All shall be well
and all shall be well
and all manner of thing
shall be well.

Dame Julian of Norwich

 

Or

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Photo Credit: pexels.com

The Roundabout and The Still Point

 

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“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement.”

T.S. Eliot The Four Quartets

 

 

The Roundabout and the Still Point

Under clear blue sky
in Central Park carefree
girls and boys hop
onto a roundabout and spin
into oblivion.

Aroundaroundaround
they go,
each rotation carrying them
away from the nascent secret
we conceal from them and ourselves:

the sky has fallen
yin has become yang.

Aroundaroundaround
we go
clinging and cleaving to roundabouts
forged by fear.
Our grip is slipping now
and we are falling
falling
falling
by default into that Still Point of is-ness
where we embrace the yang
until our yearning for yin
puts the sky back in place
and the children back
on the roundabout…

As for us-
Stay off.

© Rita H. Kowats
http://www.spiritualitywithoutborders.blog

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Credit: imgbin.com

 

 

New Year’s Everyday

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Although we are not celebrating Rosh Hashanna today and the calendar may not mark the beginning of another year, I offer Marge Piercy’s poem to give us hope that every day is new and we can come back after immigrants are rounded up like cattle and congresswomen are told to go back to the country they were born in if they don’t like this one.

 

The head of the year

The moon is dark tonight, a new
moon for a new year. It is
hollow and hungers to be full.
It is the black zero of beginning.

Now you must void yourself
of injuries, insults, incursions.
Go with empty hands to those
you have hurt and make amends.

It is not too late. It is early
and about to grow. Now
is the time to do what you
know you must and have feared

to begin. Your face is dark
too as you turn inward to face
yourself, the hidden twin
of all you must grow to be.

Forgive the dead year. Forgive
yourself. What will be wants
to push through your fingers.
The light you seek hides

in your belly. The light you
crave longs to stream from
your eyes. You are the moon
that will wax in new goodness.

Marge Piercy

Meloncholia On The Borders

I simply have no words for the treatment of migrants at America’s southern border, so I rely once again on the words of poet Jack Gilbert and the sculpture of Albert Gyorgy to convey feelings intense enough to move us to action.

 

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THE ABANDONED VALLEY

Can you understand
being alone so long
you would go out in the middle of the night
and put a bucket into the
well so you could feel something
down there
tug at the other end of
the rope?

Jack Gilbert in Refusing Heaven

 

Wisdom from Parker Palmer

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It’s a soggy summer day in Seattle, folks, a day to silently drink in this pithy piece of wisdom and store it until the sun graces us with its presence again.

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Photo Credit: true self portraits https://www.newscientist.com/round-up/your-true-self/

Radiant Ripples

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This gift of wisdom came to me this morning and reminded me of a poem I wrote earlier.  I invite you to meander between the words, between the lines.

A clear radiant unselfishness at the core of your being is a vital source of power and influence. It spreads as surely as ripples on a pond when a stone is tossed into the center. A sincere reliance on your own integrity generates supreme good fortune.  I Ching 61 Centering in Truth

The Sideway Swing

 

Photo Credit:   

“SoulCards” by Deborah Koff-Chapin.  The technique Deborah has created is called “touch drawing.”  The  cards come in two decks of 60 images and can be used alone or with others as reflection tools.  They have enriched my meditation for years and have helped those I companion with.  www.soulcards.com

Used with permission from the artist

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Godlight to Soulight And Back Again

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Meister Eckhart’s Refectory

I relished some time with my old friend Meister Eckhart this morning.  I invite you into this meandering, while acknowledging that it is a bit out there (maybe more than a bit!)

 

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Homecoming: A Feast Of Sacred Poems

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Once again I am honored to introduce you to a freshly published volume of poetry penned by my friend Kay Mullen.  You can read more about it and order a copy at her  website.

I leave you now with a glimpse into kay and a taste of her poetry.

About Kay

[…in later life] Kay… earned a Master of Fine Arts from Pacific Lutheran University with a focus on poetry. She received a First Place in the Washington State William Stafford Award and was a Best of the Net nominee as well as a multiple Pushcart Prize nominee. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals including Shark Reef, and Literature and Belief. Anthologies include Becoming: What Make a Woman, edited by Jill McCabe Johnson, and Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose About Alzheimer’s Disease, edited by Holly Hughes.

…Looking back on her writing she states: “I realize I intuitively strove to follow my birth mother’s music and artistic gifts somehow weaving them into my poems. My mother left me a legacy I discovered long after her death. She has become alive again in my poetry.” www.kaymullen.org

 

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Photo Credit:  https://www.pexels.com/search/nautilous%20shell/

www.kaymullen.org

A Tribute To Tina

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Tina strolls leisurely along the lake boardwalk with her happy little dog whose pink satin bow bounces with attitude as she leads Tina. Someone has to lead because Tina is intensely focused on the book she is reading.

When I saw Tina in the elevator yesterday I felt a burst of radiant well-being emanate from her. Light showcased clear brown eyes highlighted by tastefully applied makeup. Her long auburn hair fell loosely around shoulders pulled straight by some unseen string from above. Tears of joy waited for release as the realization emerged- Tina was well.

Focusing on a book was something Tina couldn’t do very well when she first moved into my apartment building. I would see her strolling around the grounds with her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor, sometimes twice in one day. She walked bent over, studying the ground as if expecting it to swallow her up at any minute. Her face was contorted and conversation resembled a rapid staccato frenzie of unrelated words.

Standing upright a year later, Tina has become for me an icon of what the human spirit can do. Witnessing her noble struggle has been a spiritual practice which reminds me how to reach down and pull out the strength to go on, the strength to survive and then to thrive. She is a monument to the art of letting go.

I am grateful to Tina, to my brave niece and to thousands of others, for showing me how to let go.